Abide With Me
by Alley Cat Sunflower
Summary: Arietta wakes up with a song in her head that Ion used to sing, but when she goes to ask Van about it, someone's in her way. That someone is, as usual, intent on wreaking havoc on her heart, but this time, she's ready to fight back. Not a songfic—just a fic about a song. T for a vaguely suggestive battle. I do not own Tales of the Abyss or the cover art!


Arietta slid out of bed, still trembling from her most frequently recurring nightmare, and tried to blink herself back to reality. Images of Ion yet flooded her mind: she felt his gentle hand on hers as she scrawled her first letters onto a blank paper. The sting of that same hand on her cheek still stung, left over from when she had told him concernedly that his smile looked like he was in pain.

She remembered even more vividly the more recent, faraway look in his eye and the uncertain, sad smile he gave her as he walked in the company of the dark-haired girl with the sparkling eyes and the bold movements—but more clear still stood out in her mind a song, melancholy and melodic, that Ion used to sing.

He had stood alone in the cathedral with the moonlight shining through the stained glass. His voice, light and mournful, carried well through the room, and Arietta would lean against the doorway, listening in awe to his quiet and bell-like tones. But Ion would stop abruptly whenever he noticed her, and ask her in the harsh tones more characteristic of the ligers than his own soft humanity what she was doing there—and she had always bowed, muttered an apology, and scurried away, leaving him to the rest of his song in solitude.

Arietta slipped into the thin white nightgown she had been given. She still hated clothes, though of course it was expected she wear them like all others of her race—and she preferred to sleep curled in a comfortable naked ball, just like the days before she left the forest.

"Van," she mumbled, half-sleepily, and opened the door. If anyone would know the tune Ion sang long ago in his high, clear voice, like the cry of a noble gryphon—it would be the Commandant. After all, it had been Van's own song that had charmed her into captivity, and there she had willingly stayed.

Shutting the door quietly behind her, Arietta made her way into the cool and comfortable darkness of the God-Generals' hall. Only a few lamps were lit, casting dim golden light down the corridor; she padded softly through the hallway, bare feet shuffling on the carpet. Van's bedroom, through the door at the end of the hall, was the grandest, most ornate room she'd ever seen, except the cathedral itself.

Arietta had been there several times before; in her younger days, she would flee down the hall to him after awakening from a nightmare, and he would sing her to sleep and carry her back to her own bed again. (It had been after the first of these frantic midnight visits that he had made a gift of that nightgown to her.)

"Going to Van's?" asked a snide voice, and Arietta jumped: Sync leaned against the wall next to his room, both legs and bare arms crossed. He still wore his mask, which glinted gold in the darkness, and as she recovered from her start, he snickered unpleasantly.

Anger flashed through Arietta's heart briefly. Sync, ever since he had joined the God-Generals a little over a year ago, had given her no end of trouble about everything he could. "Yes," she responded, unable to hide some resentment at his asking. "What are you doing up?" she added curiously, before he could say anything else, but he didn't seem to think her question was important.

"You can't go running to him for everything," he shrugged.

There was something very familiar about Sync that Arietta couldn't quite put her finger on. Physically, he reminded her very much of Ion, but she dismissed that as looking for nonexistent parallels, and resolved to think of their shared features no more.

"I _don't_ run to Van for everything," countered Arietta. She hadn't gotten up to see the Commandant about anything for months now, and she was proud of herself for it.

"Do so," returned Sync, uncrossing his arms and pushing himself away from the wall to stand up straight. She got the feeling he was looking her in the eye, even if she couldn't see the challenge in his gaze. "What's it about this time? Another nightmare about your precious Ion?"

Something prevented Arietta from genuinely hating Sync, though, no matter_ how _much he lashed out at her, and no matter how frustrated he made her. Any anger she felt usually ebbed away quickly, to be replaced by pity, and she would speak to him all the more gently the next time they met—usually after berating herself for not holding grudges as she did with almost everyone else.

Maybe it was because it reminded her so much of the way Ion would respond if she spoke out of turn; she had quickly learned not to ask any questions around him unless she was very, very sure it would be safe—and whenever he had spoken harshly to her, she had meekly backed away.

But now, a fury stirred in her heart the like of which she had never felt, and she raised her head as high as she dared to search the eyes she knew lay somewhere behind the mask. "Say that again," she ordered, all trace of her ordinary shyness and hesitation gone.

"I _said_," said Sync with mock patience, "you had another nightmare about your precious Ion, and now you're running to Van's room so he can calm you down." Sync enunciated each word and spoke slowly, as though his intention of antagonizing her wasn't clear, and rage boiled in Arietta's heart at his tone.

"I'm not," she growled. "I'm going to see him about a song."

"A _song_?" asked Sync, and he sounded genuinely surprised—almost as though he had forgotten to be nasty for a moment. His voice even sounded a little higher-pitched than usual, though that might have been Arietta's imagination. "What song?"

Arietta frowned at the shift in his tone, her own anger evaporating as usual, and he lowered his head; she suspected he was embarrassed. "None of your business," she asserted, gathering courage from his unusual passivity and made up her mind to keep walking forward. Sync could follow if he wanted.

But he didn't move.

Triumphant, Arietta was about to knock at Van's door, but as she raised her hand, a voice—hoarse and somewhat off-key—sliced through the air. The ghost of Ion's song echoed hauntingly through the corridor; it even sounded like his voice, though his had been much smoother than this one.

"_Swift to its close ebbs out life's little day_," it hissed, and Arietta didn't want to turn around and break the illusion of Ion's presence. "_Earth's joys grow dim; its glories pass away. Change and decay in all around I see…_"

Arietta waited for the final line in the verse eagerly, the last phrase hanging unfinished on the edge of her mind, but it never came—and when she looked up, disappointed, Sync stood abruptly beside her, looking down at her through his impenetrable mask. "Ion's _gone_," he jeered. "A song like that isn't going to bring him back."

She knew better than to try asking how he knew the song to begin with, let alone that he knew that was the song she was talking about. Sync had an eerie habit of judging situations incredibly accurately, almost to the point of predicting the future. More than once, Arietta had wondered whether he was actually a Scorer—even if they were all working to abolish it.

Sync smiled at Arietta's wide eyes, his dubious mission accomplished, and was about to turn away again when Arietta surprised them both by catching his wrist. He turned and looked at her with such disgust in his countenance that she almost faltered, but did her best to burn her gaze straight through that mask.

"Stop talking about Master Ion like that," she said quietly, clenching her fist around his arm.

"Make me," laughed Sync after a brief and uncertain pause, yanking his wrist from her grip and taking a step back. "_Master Ion_, this. _Master Ion_, that. You're so pathetic." He grinned at her tauntingly, and Arietta's eyes filled with hot and angry tears.

Before either of them knew what happened, Arietta had let out a frenzied cry and slashed at his face with her fingernails; his mask shifted at her blow, and he backed up another step, but she followed. As she raked her nails across as many parts as she could reach—more than usual, since he wore a black sleeveless shirt in place of his coat—he seemed more preoccupied with ensuring his mask stayed in place than defending himself.

"Get off!" snarled Sync eventually, holding his mask with one hand (grimacing desperately), and shoved her chest with his other hand with such force that she staggered backward and fell down. As Sync raced back down the hall, Arietta leapt to her feet and sprinted after him at full speed, pouncing like a liger onto his back. Throwing an elbow around his neck, she wrapped her legs around his torso, digging her heels into his diaphragm.

Sync stumbled, cursing breathlessly, then reversed direction abruptly and backed into the wall, effectively crushing her: Arietta gasped for air, digging her chin into his shoulder, and he yelped, both hands trying to force her arm away from him as he leaned against the wall with all his weight. She clung to him furiously, clenching her extremities tighter every time he struggled.

Finally, coughing, Sync whirled around and flung himself onto the ground with no warning: Arietta let out a squeak as her limited breath was pushed out of her lungs, and the strength went out of her arms and legs as she was squeezed between his body and the floor. Panting, Sync threw her arm off his neck and got to his feet, straightening his mask before looking down at her impassively.

He turned his back on her before too long and rubbed his neck. "Freak," he growled, though his voice was faint and feeble from suffocation. "You only know what your liger friends taught you. Van was a fool to think you could be tamed."

Fierce pride welled up in Arietta's heart. _I am untamed. _Those three words echoed in her head, and she got to her feet as well, coughing. Sync glanced over his shoulder at her as she approached him.

"Say you're sorry," she said, as fiercely as she could, though her voice was little more than a whisper.

"No," responded Sync immediately, turning fully around, and there was a small and arrogant smile on his face—yet, infuriatingly, he didn't make any move either towards her or away. Why was he so _difficult_? Another, final surge of exhausted fury crashed onto Arietta as he stood there, plainly expecting her to give up.

Summoning the very last of her late-night strength, she seized Sync's shoulders (surprised at his lack of resistance) and slammed him as hard as she could into the wall, pressing her entire, slender body against his with all her limited force to keep him in place.

Everything went very still and silent; Arietta had expected him to throw her off instantly. He seemed to be holding his breath, and she dug her fingernails into his wrist, pressed against the wall along with the rest of him; he sighed, but this was not his normal exasperated exhalation. _This_ one was quiet, and held many secrets in that single breath.

"Say. You're. Sorry," snarled Arietta, focusing once more on her gradually dying wrath, and sank her teeth gently into his throat. She was careful to make it very clear that if he didn't, she wouldn't hesitate to rip his throat out like the ligers had taught her to do: she felt a shiver run through his body as he inhaled sharply, and beneath her fingers, his wrist trembled.

"I—" began Sync in a somewhat choked voice, his throat vibrating under her teeth with his soft utterance. His heartbeat, so close to hers, quickened, and its strength suddenly threatened to overwhelm her completely. Did she really have the heart to kill him, or even threaten him…?

Though she had not reached a conscious decision, her lips slid down over her teeth again automatically, and Sync made a breathy noise a little like a groan in the back of his throat.

"Arietta!" boomed Van's voice down the hall, startling them both, and she let go and stepped away hurriedly: her prey merely leaned against the wall as naturally as if none of the battle had ever happened, though she could hear how heavy his breaths were.

"Yes, Van," mumbled Arietta, putting her hands behind her back and staring at the floor. She might have come out of her room to find him to begin with, but now, she wished he'd never emerged. She'd almost gotten Sync the Tempest to say he was sorry—why had he chosen _then_ of all times to interrupt?

"It's two-thirty in the morning," continued Van, looking imperiously down at them both; Arietta looked meekly back up at him, while Sync's expression remained impassive. "_What _is going on?"

Sync and Arietta exchanged as much of a glance as could be done when one set of eyes was invisible, and looked up at Van again.

"Just playing," muttered Sync unconvincingly, voice dripping with resentment.

"Yes," agreed Arietta hastily. "Just… playing."

"Playing," repeated Van disbelievingly. "I see." He surveyed the two of them suspiciously (Arietta dared to look earnestly into his eyes) before sighing heavily and turning around. "Go to bed," he commanded eventually, walking back down to his room. "And, for the love of Lorelei, make sure they're _separate_ beds," he muttered, voice carrying back to them—though Arietta doubted they were meant to hear.

The sound of a door closing reached Arietta's ears, and she found with an unusual twinge of disappointment that Sync had already vanished into his room. She rested her ear against the door, trying to articulate her own apology, but as she was about to say her piece and hope he accepted it—he never had before—

"Sorry," came a barely audible whisper from the other side of the door, and as his footsteps retreated, Arietta found herself unable to keep from forgiving him.


End file.
